I noticed today that I have been complaining that come August…2014…when we return from Radford University after dropping The Wild Boy off for his first semester of his first year of college…I keep complaining that I won’t be “an empty-nester.”
I will share a secret with you. I don’t want to be an empty-nester. Yet. Maybe some day. But I’m not ready.
Even though I still do mounds of laundry. Every day.
Even though I spend hundreds of dollars on food. Each week.
Even though I stumble over Size 13 and 14 and 7.5 shoes and boots. All over the house.
Even though I have to close bedroom doors because my bp rises a few points each time I walk by and catch a glimpse of the mess. And it’s not just the bedrooms at times.
Then there are times like these…
When your daughter informs you that she will never have children because she just learned about Meconium.
When a sketchy looking man with a hoodie and scruffy beard tells you to “get the f(#& out of my way” at Trader Joe’s and your daughter wants you to point him out to her so she can take him down, or at least give him a stern talking to for being so rude to her momma.
When your daughter tells you that there is plenty of room in her bed if Dad’s snoring gets to be too much. *she’s a thrasher from day 1 of birth so I have learned to pass on that offer unless I want a bloody nose and multiple leg bruises*
When you and your daughter laugh so hard and loudly at the Starbucks that people stare at you. And they smile.
When your daughter states, out loud, that she has seriously enjoyed the afternoon spent with you and you tell her that since you could die tomorrow you want her last memories of you to be good ones. And you both start laughing. *See the previous paragraph.*
Empty-nest? I don’t think so.
Love you guys.